


men at arms

by ahatfullofoctarine (orphan_account)



Series: tumblr prompt hoards [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Cussing, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Paintball, Post-War, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ahatfullofoctarine
Summary: “Uh…Matt?  Can we talk?”Matt took aim, one eye squeezed shut as his laser sight zeroed in on Shiro’s chest. “Talk away buddy.”“How uh…” Shiro paused, swallowing as the red dot on his chest travelled to a much more vulnerable spot.  “How long are you gonna keep this up?”Matt/Shiro. Post-War Shenanigans.





	men at arms

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration taken from [this prompt list](http://musingmemes.tumblr.com/post/160471306196/protector-protectee-starters-no-you-cant-go)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~i may or may not have challenged myself to attempt all of them at some point~~

Matt was besieged on all sides.

He wasn’t worried. He’d fought in an intergalactic war and bunked with ten people in a tent designed to only house four during the rare reprieves in between routing the invading Galra forces and hauling ass to avoid being shelled by heavy artillery. He’d done it with very little complaint, very little sleep and without too much thought. Patience was key to survival, and thanks to his stint with Shiro in a Galran gladiatorial arena, he had it in spades.

A paintball game with Team Voltron where everyone was out to get  _him_ specifically? Piece of cake.

The sky had been overcast in the morning and had reliably remained so over the paintball arena by the time noon rolled around.  Naturally this meant that Matt had been slow-roasting for a little over four hours in his rented protective garb, crouched low behind a wall of tractor tyres with the red team’s flag tied around his bicep - and the more recently-acquired blue team’s flag tied around his thigh. The original plan had been to keep the red flag safe, but while running from Hunk he’d unwittingly stumbled into blue territory, spotted the flag in all its unguarded blue, polyester, glory and thought,  _hey wouldn’t it be funny if_ neither _team captured their flags?_

It had been –  _oh God_   _had it been_ – so,  _so_.  _Sublime_ for all of the twenty minutes it took for Allura to deduce that one of Lance’s own had gone rogue, and had swiftly moved to establish a temporary truce until the traitor had been taken care of. Arena rules dictated that Capture the Flag games ended  _only_ when one team’s flag was mounted in the base of the opposing team, and it was just Matt’s luck that the supervisor of their session had just as chaotic a sense of humor as he did. She might have been a benevolent trickster god in a past life.

Thanks to her patronage, Team Voltron was going to be here  _all day_  if Matt had anything to say about it - and he did: an entire soliloquy to leave Hamlet’s iconic Third Act in the dust.

Ergo, he was gunning to keep everyone here past closing.

It was just his luck he’d finished that thought when he heard movement in the bushes at least a metre out. A second later Shiro emerged, paintball visor tilted up, hands in the air. Eyes trained on Matt’s hiding spot.  

From a distant corner of the arena Matt could hear scattered gun fire and swearing as the manhunt continued.  Matt snickered imagining the look on their faces. Most likely they’d found the decoy mannequin sporting his baseball cap. Oldest trick in the book.

“Uh…Matt?  Can we talk?”

Matt took aim, one eye squeezed shut as his laser sight zeroed in on Shiro’s chest. “Talk away buddy.”

“How uh…” Shiro paused, swallowing as the red dot on his chest travelled to a much more vulnerable spot.  “How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“Depends.  When are the space cows coming home?”

“ _Matt_.”

Matt snorted.  “What?  You gotta admit this is  _pretty_ funny.”

Shiro shook his head, but Matt could also see him smiling.  _All the sweeter_ , he thought, chuckling.

His temporary lapse in concentration was taken by Shiro as peaceful invitation to continue on, only stopping short of his hideout when red exploded on the ground a few centimeters from Shiro’s boots.  

“Christ, Matt. I just want to talk.” Shiro sounded genuinely offended.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you.” Matt shrugged. “But unless you want in, I think you’d better start learning to moonwalk.”  

“Look.” Shiro held up his gun and fired at a nearby tree, blue splattering on the trunk twice, and then a series of impotent clicks as he continued to pull the trigger.  

“Well that was…” Matt wasn’t too sure how to finish that sentence -  _very Shiro_ ,  _perhaps_?  He stuck his forearm out of cover, jerked it back in again, and covered Shiro’s six as he jogged over. Matt was nice like that.   

“Pidge and Lance are on the warpath.” Shiro said upon arrival, Matt shuffling to make room.  Matt snickered, holding up the spare ammo cartridges he’d stolen from camp. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of those two.”

“You don’t think this is taking things too far?”

Matt considered it, then shook his head. “Not really, no.  And I missed hanging out. You gotta admit, a whole year with minimal contact with everyone is just ludicrous.  Closure my ass.   _We fought in a war_  for Chrissake.”

“So you’re making up for lost time.” Shiro’s smile was empathetic. “You could have just  _called_ , you know.”

“Mm yeah, interrupting The Intergalactic Press Tour at risk of committing an intergalactic cultural faux pas  _does_ sound right up my alley.  I’m not  _that_ starved for attention.” Matt rolled his eyes, earning a laugh from Shiro who reached out and squeezed his arm.

“Glad to see your sense of humor survived.”

“Yeah,  _well_.” Matt was too. In fact, some days he was surprised it did, with all the nightmares he had; all the therapy that surviving the Galra prison system entailed. “Speaking of, did you see the souvenir I gave Lance?”

Shiro stared at him, scandalized. Matt winked in return.

“Made him think it was Keith.”

“And that actually worked?”

Matt leveled just as an incredulous stare back at him. “ _Please_.  _As if_  Keith’d deny a nice clean shot like that.  Toss him in all the wormholes you want; he’s never outgrowing that competitive streak.”

Technically it had been a space whale, but same difference, and Shiro didn't feel compelled to correct that oversight.

“So if I toss  _you_ in a wormhole…” 

“Negatory on  _both_ counts.  Now - will you play the part of hapless hostage or will you stare down the angry horde…that is literally the people who helped save the universe? Please say the second bit because I swear all of them are gonna try to shoot me in the dick.” Matt added, burying his face into his arm and laughing hard enough that his eyes started to water.

Lance. His money was on the sharpshooter.  _Oh God_. The dick  _and_  keister. Double whammy.

In answer Shiro unscrewed his empty cartridge, subbing it for one of the spare ammo cartridges in Matt’s hand, looking earnestly determined.

"No one will hurt you as long as I'm breathing."

 

 

. . .

 

Yeah, no – they still had their asses handed to them. There were worse ways to go, Matt supposed.


End file.
